


cold and still

by lady_mab



Category: Friends at the Table (Podcast)
Genre: Canon Compliant, Other, Spoilers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-09
Updated: 2018-06-09
Packaged: 2019-05-20 07:34:39
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,926
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14890281
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lady_mab/pseuds/lady_mab
Summary: In the wake of Quire's second Miracle, Signet tries to hold herself together. Tries to mend what is broken. Tries not to look back.





	cold and still

**Author's Note:**

> spoilers for episode 52-54 of TM

The sound of the axiom crashing to the ground echoes loudly through the headsets. It bounces through the hull of the Angler and Signet closes her eyes against the waves of emotional feedback it gives off.

 _Ache_ , she thinks, and she does. Her chest hurts. She says its name as a final goodbye, sending it off.

Even’s voice cuts through the chatter first. “ _Everyone sound off. Status report? I repeat -- everyone sound off._ ”

Her fingers scramble against the controls before she’s able to connect. “This is Signet, reporting. I'm unharmed.”

Gig’s voice came through next, drawn out and evidently in pain. “ _Guys! Guys I think I’m dying!_ ”

“ _You’re not dying,_ ” Wynter snaps, coming in through Gig’s comms. “ _I’ve got you_.” Reassuring, but there is a degree of panic in her voice.

Even’s giving orders -- to the rest of them, others on the open channel, but through the haze, Signet picks up on one important fact: “Where’s Echo?”

Everyone goes silent, even Gig’s whimpering dies down at her question.

“ _What?_ ” Even, breathless, just realizing his mistake. “ _Weren’t they with Acre?_ ”

“ _They were--fighting--_ ” Gig grinds out. The rest of whatever he wants to say is cut off in a swear and a cry of pain.

Signet maneuvers her Angler, the sights sweeping across the space where she had last seen the flash of Acre’s hair. There’s a signal from behind her, a hum going through the Exuvia, and she turns to find Empyrean.

She looks closer, and inside is Blooming as Signet remembers her. Not like the last time they saw each other. Not like the woman who sent that last letter and gave up.

They don’t say anything, don’t open up a line of communication.

The only thing Signet does hear is the increasingly more pained cries from Gig, and something in her mind switches. 

Blooming is beyond saving.

Gig is someone she can still help.

Signet turns her Angler down, and doesn’t look back.

* * *

She does her best to help Gig, despite his complaining. Despite the way that he manages to insult her when she is stitching up his wounds. 

He’ll live. He can walk. He doesn’t say thank you.

What he does say implies _fuck you and your bare minimum effort, you liar._

 _You don’t have a lot of alternatives here_ , is what she eventually snaps, and that gets him to shut up. Long enough so that she finishes what she’s doing and pushes away.

She looks up, gathering her thoughts. Empyrean is gone, but she didn’t expect to see it silhouetted in the sky or perched on the edge of a roof.

She doesn’t regret.

She _doesn’t regret_.

(She’s not sure she knows how.)

* * *

When Cascara heads back into her mech, she leaves behind her fears with Signet.

_I fear we’re counting the days until we turn on each other. Us. You and me and the Notion._

They are valid fears. She also worries about the Waking Cadent. She worries about Tender. And Echo, and Grand and the others. These figures who are so young, who she has known for so short a time.

Who do not know what it means, truly, to have to fight to defend something like _freedom_ and _identity_ and maintain a desperate struggle to keep something, anything, alive long enough for it to mean something.

Echo fought in the week-long war. Perhaps they have an inkling. But war against the Hegemony would be no holds barred. They would not make it out as a version of themself that they could live with.

She is so worried, because it has been hours, and still no one has heard from them.

Acre reappears, or perhaps she had never truly left. Or she rewound herself to be here again, at this moment.

Perhaps she sensed some of Signet’s desire to talk to her, because she continues her delicate walk across the spine of Ache -- arms outstretched, childlike in her tottering side to side.

Signet speaks without thinking. “Where did they go?”

Acre steps, steps, steps, flashes back and repeats. “Somewhere to heal.”

Her hands clench into fists at her side, and, unbidden, Gig’s words come back to her. _Fake. Liar. Bad bad bad bad doctor._ “Are they hurt?”

There’s no response. Simply Acre closing the distance in stuttering starts and stops. 

“Why didn’t you help them?”

“It was not my battle to help. Like helps like. Helps like. Helps like. I came here to learn from and help Quire. Echo’s fight was not my fight. Not my fight.”

Signet shakes her head, passes a hand over her brow. “They were fighting to defend Quire. And you couldn’t lift a hand to defend them?”

Acre stands before her in an instant. She stares up into Signet’s face before reaching up and tracing the path Signet’s own hand had just taken. “You know what it means to lose a part of yourself. If you were me, what would you have done to get them back? Get them back. Get them back.” Her expression falters, darkens, then her entire form shifts into something that defies comprehension.

A sphere, floating before her -- an expanse of a world and a hundred thousand lives -- the touch of a lover’s hand against her cheek -- a promise _I will save you as you have saved me my Potent. As you have saved me. As you have saved me._

And then she is gone, and Signet bites back on the scream of frustration.

* * *

Signet is still sitting atop Ache when the comms crackle to life.

“ _Uhh…_ ” Echo’s voice is soft, muted.

Her head jerks up from where it rests against her folded arms.

Gig’s and Even’s voices swell with a tidal wave of questions, and she can hear Echo’s sharp intake of breath beneath their clamor.

“ _Can someone come pick me up?_ ” They audibly gulp and when they speak again, a bit of the waver is gone from their voice. But not enough. “ _I’m on the roof of the hospital._ ”

“Yeah, I got you,” Signet says, already rising to her feet and heading for her Angler.

There’s no immediate response, and she doesn’t expect one. 

Echo’s muttered “ _Thank you_ ,” almost gets lost in the engines booting to life.

She turns on the private channel, cuts off the outside chatter from the others. “I’ll be there soon,” she says as she hones in on their location. Not too far. 

Sure enough, they are perched on the roof of the hospital that had sprung, fully formed, from Quire’s second miracle.

They don't turn away from where they gaze out into the middle distance, the saturated colors of the mirage dancing across their dark skin and hair. They wear a paper hospital gown -- sword and eyepatch on the roof behind them. Bare feet kick out into space.

Signet stands a respectful distance away, content to watch them.

Echo slumps after a moment, and they turn to face her. “Sorry…” They make a vague gesture with their hand before running it back through their hair. “I would get up but a part of me thinks I'll be just as likely to pitch myself over the edge of the building than walk to you.”

Several responses flit to the tip of her tongue, but she has to choke them down. “Do you want to talk about what happened?”

“Soon…” They swallow, then turn back towards the Mirage. “Signet…? I'm glad it's you.”

Something in their tone finally kicks Signet’s legs into motion. She crosses the distance between them in determined, long-legged strides, and kneels down at their side.

Her hand lifts, covers the one that is tangled back in their hair. Echo leans into her touch, and she watches the light from the Mirage chase shadows across the planes of their face. “I’m sorry I couldn’t help you.”

The corners of their mouth lifts into a smirk, and she can feel the huff of breath against her palm. “I’m sorry I couldn’t do more for the rest of you.”

“You defended Quire.” She doesn’t even notice that her hands are shaking until Echo shifts their hand to grip hers. “You defended Quire and no one was there to defend you.”

Echo tilts their head until their lips are pressed to the palm of her hand. They close their eyes and tighten their grip, doubling over so that she can't see their face. Signet wraps her arms around their shoulders, willing the trembling to stop. They cling her, unsteady and fierce and _terrified_.

* * *

Signet loses track of how much time passes as they sit there, huddled on the edge of the roof. It seems like far longer than just a few minutes by the time she slowly pries herself away. 

Echo’s paper gown crinkles, and they wince as it shifts around them. “My clothes got super fucked up.”

“At least you're…” she hesitates, uncertain of which descriptor to use.

They huff a laugh. “I'm conscious and not hooked up to machines.” A beat, then, “Are the others okay?”

Signet turns her gaze away. "Even is unharmed. A little stressed but… I think we all are."

"And Gig?"

She doesn't even realize that she makes a sound until Echo reaches for her hand.

"That bad, huh?" they ask, trying to tease, but she can't help the flinch anyway.

"He'll be fine. He's on his feet. I--" Words fail her, and she takes the time to carefully compose herself. "He behaved recklessly, but it was his actions that helped us finally take down Ache. I don't mean to be hard on him but…"

"It's hard to trust him when he's doing such reckless shit, I know. Believe me, I know." They scrub at their face with the heel of their free hand. "What happened?"

In halting words, picking her way around her own concerns during the final events, Signet recounts the battle with Ache. It's clinical, dry, and about as unattached as she can make it.

Her own personal feelings about any of it are not a necessary addition.

Echo listens, feet tapping out an unknown rhythm against the side of the building. "No one else noticed I was missing," they finally say, and there's a flatness to their tone that alarms Signet.

It's the same sort of detachment that she was using. Matter of fact. Removed.

Uncaring.

"A lot had happened. Gig was… crushed and exploded, or whatever he called it. Even was just trying to keep his own head on straight."

"And?"

"And what, Echo? I didn't know how to find you. Acre was no help. She--… She just…" Signet struggles with the lingering frustration. The emotions she's not used to showing. In the end, she smacks the roof with her hand and shakes her head. "I couldn't bring myself to reach out to you. I didn't want to know if something irreversible had happened. I _hoped_ that you were alright, that you just needed time. But if you had truly gotten lost, or injured -- I couldn’t even help Gig."

"Signet--"

"There wouldn't be anything I could do. And I know it's damn selfish of me to think like that. To think 'there's nothing I would be able to do anyway, so why bother'." She smacks the roof again.

"Signet--"

She tries to pull away but their grip tightens, unwilling. They tug harder, guiding her hand into their lap, clutching at it with both of their hands.

Signet breathes in deep. Holds it until the roaring of her blood in her ears dulls to a background static. "I apologize. I am being unfair to you."

Echo doesn't respond right away, and when she turns to look at them, their attention is back on the Mirage. "No. No, it's fine. I was the one being unfair. I didn't… I didn't want to be found, I don't think. It took me a long time to gather up the strength to call you guys." Their fingers are dry and calloused, but warm as they trace patterns across her hand. "If anyone else had responded… I wouldn't have let them find me."

She keeps studying their profile, and when they tilt their head to return the attention, she doesn't look away. "You could have called me directly."

"That was me trying not to be selfish." Their voice drops, and the waver that Signet heard through the comms comes back, but still she doesn't look away. "I wanted to give you the chance to say no. That I wouldn't burden you--"

"You're not a burden, Echo."

The shadows that have been lingering on their features flicker, uncertain. "If I'm not a burden, then you're not a fraud."

Signet draws back, breath catching in surprise. "Pardon?"

"I know that's what you were thinking. With Gig. He says lots of shit, but it's all hot air. You can't let it get to you. You're great. And I'm glad you came. And…"

She smiles despite herself, and Echo's eyes drop away from hers for just a second. Signet lifts her hand and brushes the backs of her fingers against their cheek, tucking the tangled strands of hair behind their ear. "That is kind of you to say so," she says, softly in the space between them.

There's an energy in Echo's limbs that she feels beneath her hand. They hold her gaze, earnest. Willing. "It's the truth."

Signet acts on impulse -- or perhaps indulgence -- as she leans in to press her lips to the corner of Echo's mouth. Delicate -- feather light -- fingers tracing the line of their jaw from beneath their ear to their chin.

The tension bleeds from Echo. They lean into her touch, into her, lips parting slightly beneath her own.

It would be so easy, she thinks, to let herself slip into the familiar steps of this.  To fall into the rhythm of them.

She pulls back. Not far, but far enough.

The air between them is charged, waiting.

The comms buzz with an incoming message before either of them can react.

Signet huffs and ducks her head as she sits upright. "What is it?" she asks, accepting the call.

" _Did you find Echo alright?_ " Even asks, and she winces.

"I'm with them." She should have updated them once she landed.

" _How are they?_ "

Echo picks up their communicator. "Bruised, but I'll live."

" _Might want to stay in the hospital a little longer instead of relying on Signet for help,_ " Gig cuts in with a wheeze of laughter.

As if she isn't sitting right there, listening.

Her fingers clench around the fabric of her robes, just a degree, but she's careful not to let anything show on her face.

Echo lets out a long breath into their communicator. "Hey, Gig?"

" _Yeah, buddy?_ "

"Shut the fuck up." They click it off and toss it behind them with a shake of their head.

Whatever reply Gig means to give is cut off in an indignant croak and a round of hacking coughs.

"We'll take my Angler and meet you back at _The World Without End_." Signet turns off her comms again.

There's a beat of silence between them before Signet pushes herself upright. "We should be getting you back." She holds a hand out toward them.

Echo looks like they want to stay something, but in the end they swallow it down and take her hand. They shiver in their paper gown. "I look like shit."

"You just fought to defend a planet. I think people will forgive the way you look." Still, she unfastens her outer robe and shrugs it off. "Here."

They let her step in and drape the fabric around their shoulders. They sag dramatically under it, clutching at her arm to stay upright as they groan. "This is so heavy! And you wear it all the time? Over all your other fancy layers?"

Signet can't help the small smile that lights on the corners of her lips as she helps Echo stand upright. "You get used to it." She places the tips of her fingers beneath their chin, lifting it up for a more imperious angle. "Confidence, too. The more you believe you're supposed to be where you are, then even the most ridiculous combinations won't get questions. That includes a former Excerpt's robes and a paper gown from the hospital."

Echo's smile is slow to form, but they keep their chin upright when her hand pulls away. They stoop to pick up their sword and eye patch. "So, how are we getting back?"

She hesitates, glancing back at her Angler. Then her smile turns to a smirk and she lifts an eyebrow. "Would you like to ride one of the shields?"

Echo's eyes go wide, and they grin excitedly. "Oh _fuck_ yeah."

She gets no more than a few steps before the broadcast starts. It's worse than the flood of emotions from Ache. It's worse than Sui Juris, if only for the impact that will follow.

"Signet?" Echo catches her around the shoulders as she stumbles at the sudden invasion. "What's wrong?"

"A transmission--" she starts, and they fumble for the eyepatch.

They hold it up to their face, and a frown immediately mars their expression. "What the hell…"

And then, in the distance, a white light burns through the Mirage. It's bright and blinding, and beneath their feet, the hospital shivers as the planet quakes in fear.

Signet turns her face away, and Echo drops their eyepatch as they shield their eyes.

But the light doesn't stop.

It marks the arrival of the next player in the game that Cascara is so afraid of, and Signet begins to accept that this is a struggle far beyond her reach.

* * *

Signet sits on the edge of her bed, running the comb through her hair in long, even strokes. Clearing her thoughts. Trying to allow herself to approach this with an open mind.

Behind the gauzy curtain, Grand sighs and shifts on his mattress -- unable to sleep, but unwilling to talk.

It's fine. She heard about what happened from Fourteen.

He will need time to process what it all means.

They all will, but again, again, Cascara's words chase themselves in circles through her mind.

_I can see Grand vanishing, or supporting whichever side would help him ease his pain._

Her hands fall limp in her lap, the comb a flash of gold in her grip.

She closes her eyes, and breathes in deep.

* * *

(When she opens her eyes, she's inside the cockpit of Belgard.)

(Her Divine wants to mourn, so Signet weeps instead _God, dear God, what have we done, what can we do nothing nothing nothing nothing nothing sitting still stagnant a fucking failure_ )

( _I won't stand for this,_ Belgard hisses. _I can’t. I can’t let this come to pass._ )

( _What's the point?_ Signet wonders, her throat raw from a scream she bites back, her palm pierced by the teeth of her comb when she gripped it too tightly. _What's even the point anymore?_ )

* * *

Her feet hit the ground and she stumbles against the next bunk, a screech of metal on concrete, as she’s thrust bodily back into the present. 

Briefly, she’s aware that her throat burns and her palm stings.

Briefly, she’s aware that Grand’s sitting upright.

When she inhales, trying to reflate her lungs, her breath hitches. When she exhales, she’s careful to keep her emotions in check.

She tries to stand upright, but scene shifts again and this time she’s falling.

* * *

_Blooming. Oh Blooming. My sweet Prince. I should have reached for you when I had the chance._

* * *

_I refuse. I refuse I refuse I refuseIrefuseIrefuseIrefuse_

* * *

One of Grand’s hands is tapping lightly against her cheek, and the other has her by the shoulder as she jerks back with a sharp gasp. “Signet? Hey, I got you. I got you.” 

She doesn’t mean to push him away. Her arms flail to gain purchase, and he backpedals to avoid being smacked.

Aware in bits and pieces. Coming back to herself in bits and pieces.

She gulps down a lungful of air, and then another. “I’m sorry,” she gasps. Rolls to her knees, then hauls herself to her feet. “I’m sorry. Thank you. I’m fine.” She’s not even certain he’s saying anything.

Her fingers wrap around her medkit, where she stores it on the bunk cubby. The Exuvia flutters to life as her hand brushes against it.

Grand calls after her, but she takes off down the hall before he can try to stop her.

* * *

She runs into Morning’s Observation on her way down the hall.

 His face is pale, drawn, and something in his expression crumbles when he sees her. “I want to get off this ship,” he says without preface when they come to a stop before one another.

 “I understand,” Signet says. She had heard about what happened to him from Fourteen as well. “As soon as we are able, we will take you back to the Brink.”

He nods, staring at his shoes.

A part of her is aware that she should do something -- say something -- so she tucks the medkit under one arm and presses her palm to his cheek. “You did what you had to do, and you did the right thing. And sometimes that feels far worse than not acting would have,  there’s no denying that. I’m here, if you need to talk.”

He nods again. “Yeah, I know. I just… Right now, I just want to go home.”

It’s good, she thinks, that he can refer to the Brink as home.

It’s a reminder, she thinks, that the rest of them don’t really have somewhere permanent they would rather be.

“As soon as we are able,” she repeats. Because that is all that she can say. That is all that she can do for him, and she hates it.

* * *

Gig makes a tired, annoyed sound as soon as she enters the room he has claimed for his own. “Ugh what is it?”

She doesn’t wait for his permission. “I’m going to keep doing what I can to patch you up,” Signet says, and the Exuvia flutters from her shoulder to Gig’s knee. “Seeing as you’re still sitting here instead of taking yourself to the hospital."

He shrugs, setting aside the pieces of tech he was fiddling with. “Listen, I’ve got a lot of things to do. I don’t have time to go to the hospital.”

The response that leaps to her tongue doesn’t make it past her teeth. “Then let’s get this over with quickly." 

The Exuvia works as efficiently as it can on the patches of broken skin, but there’s nothing that can be done to speed up the healing of his ribs.

Through this entire process, Gig keeps talking. She blocks him out, but his tone grates at the already raw edges of her nerves. She doesn’t need to know what he’s saying to know that it’s more backhanded comments about her.

On and on, her patience growing thinner and thinner.

She’s concentrating so hard on a burn on his arm that she doesn’t even notice that he’s stopped talking.

“Signet?”

Her head jerks up, and her gaze meets Gig’s. He’s staring down at her with an eyebrow arched in curiosity. Both eyes are in place, for which she is thankful. The Exuvia sits on his shoulder, its wings fluttering at her attention.

“Signet?” Echo’s voice.

She shifts from where she’s crouched at Gig’s side to find them standing in the doorway. The bruise on their cheek has swelled to a dark, ugly purple. An ice pack dangles from their fingers. “What is it?”

They shuffle in their spot. “I was wondering if you could…” They trail off, making some sort of vague gesture.

“You know she’s not a real doctor, don’t you?” Gig says, flexing his hand and studying the work she had been doing.

“Unlike you, I’m not so picky with my medical professionals,” Echo replies cooly.

Signet returns her items to her medkit with deft precision. “Try not to do anything too strenuous until those ribs are completely healed,” she says as she rises to her feet.

“Wait--” Gig hops down from where he had been sitting on the edge of the pool table. “You’re done?”

“I’ve done all that I can.”

“But--”

“If you want to heal as quickly and cleanly as possible, pay the credits and go to a real hospital like everyone else.” Signet turns on her heel and strides out of the room to brush past Echo in the hallway.

There's a beat before they follow after her.

They catch onto her hand before she can go to far. Without saying anything, they tug her through a port-side door. There's a short ladder down before it opens up into a storage room of sorts. Piles of the golden netting are tucked against one side, and the machines that would deploy them are silent sentinels across the space.

Echo's room.

Signet doesn't realize she's been holding her breath until she releases it on a shaky exhale.

Echo pries the medkit from her hands and sets it aside. Their fingers are ice cold from the pack they held against their face, but the shock of their touch gets her to comply.

Their thumb smooths down the lines of her wrist, over the heel of her hand and works her clenched fingers open. An arc of angry crimson dots mirror one of the lines engraved in her palm.

“It’s nothing,” she says automatically and when she pulls her hand free, they let her.

“I went looking for you. Grand said you left in a hurry.”

“I... “ Signet lifts a hand to fidget with her hair, wondering what it must look like. What she must look like. No wonder Grand was concerned -- wide-eyed and hair loose, sprawled on the ground from where she lost her balance.

There’s no ornamentation in her hair now. It hangs free and wild down her back. It tangles in her arms as she works, but she has nothing to hold it back.

Echo reaches out and tucks a wayward stand behind her ear. For the first time since they came to fetch her, she notices split knuckles and the promises of bruises on the back of their hands.  “I didn’t want to bother you,” they say. “I thought I could talk to Even about this, but…”

The ship is unsteady beneath their feet.

"I'm sorry, I must look like a mess." Signet attempts a laugh, but it is breathless and strained. "It's been a very long few days. I'm letting it catch up with me."

"Did you see something, too?" They make a vague hand gesture, and Signet follows it before pulling her gaze up to meet theirs. "Just now."

"Oh. Yes." Behind her, perched atop the medkit, the Exuvia flutters its wings and whirs in response to her thoughts. "We can talk. We never did get the chance, after Ache."

Echo hesitates, then looks away. "I don't know if it's really that important. And you're busy--"

It's Signet's turn to reach out, though her hand hovers in the space just above their cheek. Her gaze focuses down to the smear of rust-red drying on her skin.

It means nothing. She knows it means nothing. But instead all she can think about is the stagnation, the stillness of violent entropy, the promise, the anticipation of the end result, and--

Echo covers her hand with their own, twines their fingers together, tugs her after as they move to sit down on a storage box.

She moves in pieces. Her brain seconds behind her body. Her legs a breath behind her hands. Trying to reclaim herself.

The silence rises between them, neither one quite ready to break it.

Signet distracts herself by studying the bruises on the back of Echo’s hands -- smoothing her thumb over to skin, noting how fresh they are compared to the one on their cheek. “Did you do this to yourself?” she finally asks, tone flat and clinical. Time to be a doctor. Or to try.

“I saw… I saw Ballad.”

She looks up sharply, but their gaze is distant and unfocused. “In your vision?”

They nod. Slowly, stringing together words, they tell her of what they saw. Of Ballad, and what he could be capable of. Of the future that they as a group had made possible.

“I can’t tell anyone else.” They scrub their face with their hands, wincing at the bruise on their cheek, the angry mark just beneath their eye. Things that Signet can’t fix, feels useless for being unable to help. Wants to be able to smooth away with a touch. “Only you and Even know about Ballad but… You know what it’s like to find someone you thought you lost… Only to be afraid that you’ll lose them again to something bigger. I can’t let this happen to him, but if it comes down to it, I will do whatever it takes to stop him from becoming that.”

Advent. With their reaching, clawing hands. Tearing things down to rebuild them in their image.

Signet closes her eyes, breathes in deeply. Tries to stem the unspooling panic, tries to cut the strings before they tangle around her lungs and strangle her. “This is my fault,” she whispers, barely even aware that the words are escaping her before she can hold them back. “What happened to Ballad--”

“No, it’s Advent’s fault. And maybe it’s his, I don’t know--”

“If I had done a better job convincing Cat’s Cradle… If I wasn’t so passive--”

_cold still stagnant unmoving unmoved_

(The Exuvia whirs, and in that sound, she can hear Belgard storming at the inaction.)

(Inside, Signet worries and worries and worries at the future that she doesn’t know if she can stop, picking at it like a scab, her spirit crying but her heart too cold to care, too cold to act, too old too tired too resigned.)

Hands brush up against her face, flickering ever so slightly as if they might pull back at any moment. But they come to rest on her cheeks -- warm reassurance, the lingering chill from the ice pack against the pads of their fingers.

She tilts her chin, leaning into their touch, a sigh slipping between her lips as their palm cups her jaw and their fingers push her hair out of the way.

Echo’s lips brush against hers, feather light and fleeting. As they draw back, tangling their fingers in her hair, she finds herself chasing after. Until their lips are on hers again, soft -- lingering -- certain.

A word tumbles from her mouth into the space between them -- Echo’s name, heavy on her tongue, breathless -- and they’re kissing her, again, again, certain, certain, hungry and desperate and afraid but certain.

She clings to them to steady herself. And lets herself fall into the rhythm of them.

* * *

The memory of Echo’s kiss and touch tether her back into her body. Keep her in one piece as she leaves them. She swallowed down their whispered reassurances, and planted them as seeds in her heart.   

One step at a time.

She goes to speak to Tender.

The door to Tender’s shuttle opens as soon as her knuckles touch the metal. “I was wondering when you were going to come talk to me about this.”

“I needed time to consider it,” Signet confesses, though she spared as little thought to it as possible.

“We’re going, aren’t we?” It’s not so much a question as it is a confirmation. Tender’s tail swishes in agitation behind her.

Her sigh is tired, resigned, unwilling to say anything. “If that is what you think the best path forward is, then I will follow.”

“We have to try, don’t we?”

Signet opens her mouth, then closes it while she considers her words. “You cannot allow yourself any distractions.”

Tender’s eyes narrow and the tail stills to a single twitch. “What is that supposed to mean?”

“From what I understand you were… preoccupied on the previous mission. And the team was jeopardized because of it.” Perhaps it is rude of her to say. Perhaps she has no place saying it after her own role in expanding Advent. But she can’t let others off as easily as she has been let off.

(She doesn’t know why Echo forgives her so easily.)

“Listen. I kept Open away from the room. I kept _her_ preoccupied instead of focused on killing Wind’s Poem.” She shifts her weight from one foot to the other, framed by her doorway. “The others understand.”

Signet’s mouth drops open, but the words don’t come. She doubts that Grand understands the complexity. She doubts that Tender truly understands the fear and hesitation when she says, “I’m merely concerned about your direction in all of this.”

Tender laughs, once -- a sharp and cutting sound. “If you were given the chance to try and reconcile with someone you thought you lost -- if you could have a moment with her again, you would have done the same. Don’t pin that blame on me." 

She remembers the image of herself, younger, certain, behind the helm of Empyrean. The utter surety and confidence in that gaze. She remembers Blooming, upset, confused. 

She remembers the betrayed look in Blooming's eyes when she turned away to help Gig.

“I was given a chance,” Signet says, softly. Cool. Anger frozen beneath the surface. “But the past is behind us, and I had a duty to the job and my companions on it.”

No matter what Gig says. No matter what she thinks. Her priority is the here and now. Those she can help within arm’s reach.

Giving herself away a piece at a time to ensure that the others are whole and can carry on.

It’s not that Tender slams the door to the shuttle in her face. It’s not that Signet turns on her heel before Tender even has a chance to recover.

They happen at the same time, and the door slams shut at her back.

The wind from the force of it tugs at the edges of her robes, but Signet stands firm. Does not flinch.

Does not turn back.

Does not regret.

* * *

She goes to check on Grand, but he’s on deck with Gig. She stays hidden in the doorway, watching the two of them interact at a distance.

He’s fine, physically, by the looks of it. The damage is deeper, at the core. Something she wouldn’t be able to reach until they are able to trust each other on a deeper level. 

She takes the fear that lingers still and wraps up and tucks it away. _Do not dwell on it. Do not dwell on what you cannot change._

She goes to check on Fourteen next.

There’s no answer when she knocks on the door, so she tries again.

Still no answer.

“I’m coming in,” she says into the empty hallway as she pushes open the door, relieved to find it unlocked. “Fourteen--”

Oh.

They’re still warm, but barely so. Slumped over a journal, the sentence trailing off into an incomprehensible scribble.

Signet closes her eyes and breathes in. Breathes out. Opens her eyes.

Calm.

She swallows down the noise in the back of her throat and lifts a hand to her communicator.

It rings twice before Tender picks up. “ _What._ ”

“It’s Fourteen--”

The silence only lasts for a beat, but it seems to stretch on for minutes. In it is understanding, a temporary truce to the battle they don’t want to acknowledge.

“ _I’ll be right there,_ ” she says.

Signet closes her eyes. She stands firm. She breathes.

 _Calm_.

Resigned.


End file.
